Finding The Write Words

Chapter One

Virgil was ten the first time he saw the marks. He was sitting at the back of the classroom, staring out the window, when he felt a tingling warmth in his arm. This freaked him out - of course it did. How could it not? - and he jumped in his seat, his eyes turning suddenly to the arm. He watched with slightly parted lips as a patch of pink paint appeared on his skin.

When was the last time he painted?

Did he forget to wash off after art class?

Was he imagining it?

He shook his head, tugging his sweater sleeve over his arm, and turned his attention to the front of the class. He didn't want anyone else to see the mark on his arm. He would ask his grandma about it when he got home.

The tingling warmth persisted, however, for another half hour before it ended abruptly, and he found himself freezing without it.

He pulled his arms further into the sleeves of his sweater, bunching his shoulders until his hands disappeared into the soft, warm fabric.

School went slower than usual that day, which was really saying something. It normally dragged on at a sluggish pace anyways. Virgil had a hard enough time concentrating on what the teacher was saying without the memory of the mark fresh in his mind. When he got home, he ran off the school bus and right into his grandma's arms. She was one of the few parents who actually bothered to wait at the bus stop; most other parents didn't want to have to stand out in the cold, so they would either wait to drive up until the bus left or they would simply have their kids walk home.

"How was school today, Virgil, sweetie?" his grandma cooed in a voice that felt like honey. It washed all his worries away, and for a moment, he forgot about the mark.

"It was okay."

"Did you learn anything today?"

He thought, tapping his chin in a move he had seen on television a few times. It made his grandma laugh. He wasn't sure why. "We read a poem today called a haiku and then Ms Williams had us write our own."

"Oh, that's very cool. What did you write about?"

They arrived home, and Virgil hung up his backpack and coat on the hook by the door. "Paint."

"Paint?"

He took a deep breath, the memory of the mark coming back to him. He nodded. "Gramma, when I was at school, something happened." She looked worried, her brows pulling together as she sat on the couch. Virgil sat beside her and pressed on. "I was just sitting in class, and my arm got all warm and tingly, like it was asleep, and I looked at it, and--"

He pulled up the sleeve of his sweater and looked down at his arm. It was blank. He froze in confusion, pulling up the other sleeve. Maybe he had mixed up what arm it was one. But no, this one was blank, too.

"I... I swear, there was paint here. It was pink paint, and it was a big splotch, and--"

"Ohhh," his grandma nodded in understanding. "Virgil, sweetie, it's okay. That's just your soulmate. I guess now is as good a time as any to give you that talk." She laughed, a sweet sound that brushed his worries away. "You know how I told you not to draw on your skin?"

He nodded.

"Well, that's because everything that happens on your skin happens on theirs, too. Every time you fall and skin your knees, every time you get marker or paint on your hands, every time you get a bruise. And it's there for as long as it's on their skin. Since the paint is gone off your arm, that just means your soulmate washed it off. No big deal. Her art class probably just ended is all."

"What's a soulmate?"

"It's one person in the whole world that you're meant to be with. Or multiple people. Some people have multiple soulmates."

"But how?" His brows pulled together. "I don't get it. Someone meant to be with me?"

"Yes, sweetie. You see, the universe - God - saw that person, or those people, and thought that they would be a perfect fit for you, so He paired you."

It seemed too good to be true, and he had learned in his short years on this earth that if something seemed too good to be true, it most likely was. After his parents died in a car accident a few years ago, leaving him to be raised by his grandma, he had stopped believing in the fairy tales that claimed happily ever after. That was all they were. Fairy tales.

"Was... was grandpa your soulmate?"

Sadness flitted over her face at the mention of him, and Virgil inwardly cursed himself for bringing him up. He hadn't done so since shortly after the funeral. It was better - easier - to just not talk about it. It caused less pain.

But she nodded, the sadness dissolving as a forced smile reached her lips.

"Then how come God took him away from us if he thought you two would be perfect together?"

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she grabbed a tissue from the coffee table, dabbing at her eyes before they had the chance to fall. "I don't know, Virgil. But I'm sure it was for a good reason."

He didn't believe it.

He didn't believe that any of it could be real.

Soulmates - the idea that there was someone who was supposed to be perfect for you. It seemed insane. The fantasies of a child. There was no way that she was going to be perfect for him. There was no way. People had differences, and they argued, and they fought.

He didn't want anything to do with the person who was supposedly "perfect" for him.

He didn't want to chance the pain his grandma went through when his grandpa died.

He didn't want to get his heart broken the way she did.

He didn't want a soulmate.